Up right out back

 All hail the internet! It was way back in 2014 when I did this trip to Kakadu in the Northern Territory, but it was easy to check up on the facts before I submitted this story in response to a request for Australian material. It was a bit of a shame then that, having written and sent in six assorted stories, the bubble with our neighbour burst again, and they had to be filed away. But at least I was paid, in advance! Which is rare, very rare... Now though, finally, the borders are open again, and this story has finally seen the light of day.

So I look forward to seeing the others, about Ningaloo, and the Bibbulmun, and Rottnest, Broome and the Stuart Highway, in the coming weeks. I do enjoy remembering those colourful trips and, as ever, hope that the stories will prompt Kiwis to break away from their boring Melbourne-Sydney-Gold Coast mindset, and explore other bits of Australia, especially the amazing Outback.

It's kind of a shame that 'The Tourist' on HBO Max isn't as gripping as it should be, given its Outback setting, and its cast; because it might otherwise intrigue some viewers enough to make them want to get a taste of that location. Never mind, though: season 2 of Tim Minchin's 'Upright' is about to be filmed. Season 1 was about a journey across the Nullabor Plain heading to Perth, and it was glorious - not even just for the scenery, either. It's a funny, sad and original story and, of course, has excellent music, notably for me 'Carry You', sung over the final credits by Missy Higgins. 

The song starts with a mention of fish and chips on Perth's Cottesloe beach, where I went to do a story about their annual sculpture exhibition. I really enjoyed it, and not just because I got, for the first and only time ever, a per diem - what a thrill! But the exhibition was great too, and it was the perfect place to stage it, along that gorgeous beach.

Connections? Well, Cottesloe’s sculpture exhibition is on again right now; plus Sculpture on the Gulf is currently running here on Waiheke, which I've written about, of course. And I did go to see Tim Minchin last year, performing at the Civic, a theatre I've also written about, of course. Upright S2 is going to be filmed in Queensland, but I have faith that Tim will break away from the boring bits and take us viewers into less familiar, but far more spectacular, locations. Can't wait.

Slava Ukraini!

I haven't been to Ukraine, but I have been to Russia. Well, Moscow, for just a couple of nights, on our multi-hop return from NZ to the UK in 1980. We flew there from Delhi, and couldn't work out why, when we landed, there was applause throughout the plane - because everyone was thankful to have survived the ramshackle Air India flight? Or just glad to be back in the motherland? It was less than a fortnight before the Olympics were to be held there, so it was surprising that the airport immigration procedures were so slow and inefficient. And it was very unnerving, given Russia's reputation, when the OH was whisked away out of sight after I'd been admitted, because his new beard didn't match his visa and passport photos.

They did let him through, after a fraught hour and a half, but our nerves were shot and we never felt comfortable after that. It didn't help everything feeling so foreign that Intourist at the airport gave us no choice of hotel - it had to be the Soyuz, way out in the suburbs, where we had to pay in advance. 

Next day we took a smelly taxi to Red Square where there was a long queue of what looked like Russians waiting to file through Lenin's tomb. We went instead to St Basil's which, with its fantastic and colourful domes and turrets, looked very out of place against the high, brick walls of the Kremlin. It's all small chapels inside, not like a cathedral at all, and very disorientating. And of course it's a museum now.

I needed the loo then, and it was a mission to find anywhere. We ended up trying to get into the Hotel Rossiya, blocked by one of the suspicious armed guards who were absolutely everywhere. I was finally allowed in, without my bag. So it was unexpected, after wandering across the Moskva River and back again, to find ourselves entering, unimpeded, the grounds of the Kremlin. The cathedrals/museums in there were pretty spectacular, but we were most fascinated by a soda-water vending machine that filled a glass you washed beforehand.

We did an Intourist bus tour then around the city. Our guide was a uniquely slim and pretty young woman - honestly, all the other women we saw, like the men, were very fat and very dowdy. Everything looked neat and tidy, though that might just have been because of the Olympics, and despite Stalin's architectural efforts, overall it seemed a pretty city. 

Later, after a very average dinner, we went out into the rainy evening to watch the changing of the guard at Lenin's tomb. Squashed in the crowd, I heard everyone suddenly fall silent, and then the hissing tramp of boots on wet cobbles - very creepy. Three guards goose-stepped into view, paused by the tomb while the Kremlin clock struck the hour, and then swapped with the old guard with such machine-like precision that they made the Buckingham Palace lot look positively sloppy.

Next day we walked past people queuing to buy manky cauliflowers to brave the Metro into the city, and were very impressed by its meticulous cleanliness, cheap fares, and the stateliness of the marble stations. 

Back in Red Square, we went into Gumm, which looked elegant from outside, but inside was dripping with rain through the roof windows. We'd expected a department store, but it was instead three floors of tiny shops, many of them with very bare shelves. There were still plenty of shoppers, though, who seemed to have no concept of personal space, and bumped into me a lot. We saw lots of queues - one, of 40-50 people, was for toothbrushes.

We wandered along Gorky Street where we found actual department stores but they didn't have much for sale, and most of that anyway was behind counters so you couldn't see it properly. The rain didn't help, of course, but honestly, wandering the city streets was a depressing experience. Then our taxi driver got into a rage when we asked to be taken to the airport, and threw us out of his car; and when we got there finally, there was more tension throughout the departure process. We had to open our suitcases, the OH's books attracting much suspicion; and then at passport control the officer inspected every single page of my passport, and the OH had to give a specimen signature to prove he was himself.

It was a huge relief to board the SAS plane to Sweden, and this time we felt like applauding as it took off, suddenly realising how tense we had been the whole time in Moscow. It was interesting to see the city, but no fun at all. We were astonished how uptight everything was, and couldn't understand how they were going to cope during the Olympics. Stately buildings apart, everything also seemed so poor and basic, and even if it hadn't rained, my impression would still have been of universal greyness.

Since then, of course, oligarchs have become a thing, though I'm sure their riches are/were the exception. Life probably did become freer and more colourful for the general population for a while there; and certainly St Petersburg became a go-to destination, especially for cruisers. Now, though, with all the sanctions being imposed internationally, Russia will be going backwards. Tough for the people. Shame Putin won't feel it.

Shackleton, yes - but also Worsley

It's lovely to be distracted from all the horrible world news by the discovery in Antarctica, 3000m underneath the increasingly solid surface of the Weddell Sea, of the amazingly well-preserved wreck of the Endurance. It sank in 1915, on an ill-judged voyage towards a crossing of the continent by Ernest Shackleton - he was strongly advised not to go, because winter had started early that year, but he was stubborn and went anyway, with his crew of 27 men, 69 dogs and one cat.

The discovery was announced on the 100th anniversary of Shackleton's funeral, in South Georgia, where he had gone again to attempt another Antarctic expedition, his fourth. He died in Grytviken of a second heart attack, the first having happened in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil en route to South Georgia - which he had brushed aside. Antarctica does that to you, you know - gets under your skin, draws you back, won't let go.

I'd go there again like a shot, offered the chance. It's unique, stunningly beautiful, and pitilessly inhospitable. On my Silversea cruise there, despite it being so expensive (*cough* to regular punters, not freebie-grabbing travel writers like me), several of the passengers guests had already been there at least once.

We visited Shackleton's grave there, and toasted 'The Boss' with a glass of champagne; and later visited dauntingly barren and rocky Elephant Island, where his crew had clung for four and a half unimaginably brutal months while awaiting rescue. That they were indeed all saved is due in huge part to the comparatively-unsung hero Frank Worsley - of Akaroa, NZ - who managed to navigate their little lifeboat in almost impossible conditions over 1300 stormy kilometres to South Georgia, to summon a ship for rescue. 

It's also thanks to Worsley's excellent mapping skills that the discoverers of the Endurance knew to look in pretty much the right place for the wreck. And, another Kiwi connection, one of the photography team who took these amazing underwater images of the ship is James Blake, son of Sir Peter, famous sailor, who was killed by pirates while on an expedition up the Amazon. In Brazil.

PS While writing this entry, a Silversea email popped into my inbox about - you guessed it - expedition cruises to polar regions, focussing on a giant petrel feeding frenzy in South Georgia and Zodiac explorations in Antarctica. Connections, people.

22/2/22

So, today it’s eleven years since Christchurch entered its new normal. On that day I stood in my living room with the nice guy who was painting our house and we watched the shocking images on TV coming through from my hometown as people fought to escape the destruction, get home, check on their families, and begin the long, long process of adapting to this sudden and catastrophic change. 

Today, I’m in a different house, with a different but equally nice guy painting it, and blithely tweeted about hoping that was as far as the coincidence went. But actually, another new normal is upon us, with the whole country trying to adapt to living with Omicron, which has just in the last week suddenly inflated daily case numbers, tenfold: 2843 today. We have still had only 55 deaths overall, which is pretty incredible; but, just as everywhere else in the world, we’ve lost our old lives, and the future, which we’ve started on already, is going to be very different. We’ll manage, I suppose. We always do. 

Different sorts of gold

 With thanks to Tourism Central Otago for their help

More brilliant weather today, sunny but not too hot - just perfect for a walk up the Bannockburn Sluicings near Cromwell, which I'd never seen before. Local guide and enthusiast Terry escorted my cousin and me on this ramble through some very striking, hoodoo-like scenery. It was all man-made, though - back in the gold rush days, this bit of the country was heaving with people seeking their fortune, turning it upside down - pretty literally - in the process.

Now the rawness has been slightly muted by weather smoothing the edges, and plants like thyme, viper's bugloss and scratchy matagouri; but it's still impressive and slightly exhausting, to look upon it all and imagine the effort that was expended here. Honestly, huge gullies dug out mostly by hand, to get down to the gold-bearing schist that they would sluice - all the unwanted soil and gravel, plus mercury and cyanide used in extraction, being flushed straight into the river, killing the fish. Now, of course, and highly ironically, all this destruction is carefully preserved and protected.

It is really striking scenery, though. Surrounded by dry, brown, bare hills (not the miners' fault - the original forests were burnt by Maori 300 years earlier, to make it easier to hunt the moa [native giant flightless birds]) there are rocky cliffs burrowed into by long tunnels, piles of hand-washed rocks that must make today's builders drool, a network of water-races, some of them bringing that valuable tool from the mountains over 50km away, a huge shallow reservoir, cute remains of dwellings...

To do the loop takes about an hour and a half, minimum, but that is easily lengthened by detours, rests and unexpected treats like vintage but still productive apricot and pear trees. Well worth doing, and I'm glad I did.

Also, because it built up an honest appetite for lunch, which we had at Desert Heart, a nearby winery where we tackled a huge and delicious tasting platter, plus corn tacos, washed down by a first, a rosé slushy, which was fun, and just right for such a hot day. We sat outside again, under shade, and it was gorgeous.

Off-duty now, we drove to historic little Clyde, which I can't remember having visited before - main street of pretty stone cottages with porches, rambling roses and tall hollyhocks, a power station in the turquoise river, and the impressive single-lane metal truss bridge nearby. I wished we had more time there.

But then we had to go back and climb into a 1958 Thunderbird - a very grand way to get to dinner at the historic Bannockburn Hotel, now in its third iteration. Again, we sat outside, enjoying the view, and ate baked Camembert, lamb ribs, home-made Cumberland sausage with truffle and Parmesan fries. Delicious! 

Next we took take part in an unofficial classic car rally. Nobody could be bothered negotiating the Covid regulations that an official one would require, so everyone - and I was astonished how many cars there were - just assembled near a park, chatted for a bit, and then cruised through Cromwell several times, waved at by spectators seated along the road, clearly aware it was taking place. 

And then we rumbled quietly back home again, under an almost-full moon rising.

Bikes, brrrrm and a barrel

With thanks to Tourism Central Otago for their help

Such a good day today, activities and locations blessed by absolutely glorious weather. The Queenstown famil done and dusted, we drove to Cromwell to visit my cousin and have a bit of a taster of this generally overlooked little town. What has, though, earned it some attention lately is a newish cycle trail along the edge of Lake Dunstan that has some properly spectacular sections suspended from the cliffs. Kitted up by Colin on an e-bike, and accompanied by Michael, we drove around to the other side of the lake to do one of its most famous sections.

At Cornish Point, we mounted up and set off along the remarkably busy track. It was a beautiful summer's day, and still holiday time, so there were lots of friendly people out enjoying it all. As did I - blue lake, golden hills, black rock, a good path that had some exciting drop-offs (not literally, fortunately), a few moderately puffy climbs with correspondingly steep downhill rewards, and three clip-on sections. These were very impressive engineering achievements, hugging the curves of the cliffs, and looking airy and non-invasive - if somewhat snug to cycle along.

We rode 5km to the coffee boat, an enterprising local's business that has done so well that there's now also a burger boat, both moored stern-in and welcoming a steady stream of customers keen for a break. The track continued past them along to the head of the lake and beyond, but we turned around here and cycled back to the car, from where Michael and I, both novices but keen, returned to Colin's by bike.

It was a lovely ride, just demanding enough (e-bikes for the win) and with lots to look at: rocky hills, boats on the lake, blue river, neat and very inviting vineyards, open grassland, wooded bits, and a fun bridge where the bike section was a clip-on. The track was mostly well away from the road, well maintained, and really enjoyable for both the physical (un)demands, and the views. The final section was riding past Cromwell's Heritage Precinct, which is full of lovely old buildings. There was some serious family discussion at the end about how far we'd ridden - 40km was reluctantly agreed on - but it really didn't matter, because it had been so pleasant.

The next thing was a visit to Highlands Motorsport Museum just outside town. This was yet another of the many car museums I've had to go to for work and, again, somewhere I've ended up having more fun than I expected. It's a really professional set-up, no expense spared: big modern museum filled with classic and rare cars worth millions, café overlooking a 4km+ racetrack with all the straights and bends, an exciting go-cart track and, most fun of all, Loos with a View. 

There are six of these, each jokily different, and they're such a feature that it's perfectly acceptable to go into the opposite sex's (empty, natch) ones. There are even squeezy bottles to fill with water in one of the men's toilets, to squirt into the urinals shaped like musical instruments, to make them play a tune together. Fun though that is, that particular loo is dominated by a separate urinal which, the label claims, is a caricature of a local. Really?

That night we went out to eat at the Stoaker Room in Cromwell, where they cook the meats in a combination smoker/steamer/bbq they've made out of a wine barrel. We sat on benches at a long table in a marquee, and had an equally long and chatty family dinner (pork belly ciabatta for me, very nice). Afterwards I got called back by the waitress for overpaying by 50c.

Chinese, cheese, cheers

 With thanks to Destination Queenstown for this famil

I went to jail today. Also to church. Neither is a common destination for me, but that's the joy of travelling - and, especially, being a travel writer shown around by an enthusiastic local. We drove this morning to Arrowtown, a little old gold-mining town where I've been a number of times before, and will happily go again, anytime, because it's so pretty.

And historic, which was my first focus, thanks to David, who showed me round the entertaining Lakes District Museum and Gallery. It was startling to hear that the Otago goldfields have produced 280 tonnes of the yellow stuff - so far. What's even more impressive is that most of it is alluvial, so, much harder to find than in seams underground. They didn't just pan, sluice and dredge for it - on display is a diving suit and helmet, for finding gold at the bottom of Lake Wakatipu. Hopeful people flooded to the area from all over the world, and Queenstown especially took off. I liked the newspaper story from then that described a street scene in the town: "dainty crinolines mincing along, stalwart muscle and sinew parading, gaudy vice flaunting at the corners, swells in broadcloth puffing their cigars". It's a great little museum, well worth a leisurely browse.

Afterwards David took me on a lovely walk around town to places I hadn't found before. After strolling along famously photogenic Buckingham Street past its stone and wooden houses, already dinky but dwarfed by towering oak, elm and sycamore trees, we went into the heritage quarter. Historic buildings like the jail and church are scattered around the neat suburb here. There's a cute little yellow cottage in St Patrick's grounds, that around 1870 was used as a school ruled by Sister Mary MacKillop, who was stern but still couldn't stop the boys from kicking rubber balls at the ceiling, where the marks are still clear.

We ended up at the Chinese Settlement, which today was sunny and attractive but in winter is mostly in the shade and, beside the river, has got down in David's experience to -15C. Though the Chinese were invited here, after all the easy gold had been taken and the European miners had mostly pushed off, they weren't made welcome and lived in tiny, primitive huts on the town's outskirts, and mostly had hard, horrible lives, many of them ending in suicide.

Some prospered though, scoring £100 in gold which was equal to a lifetime's wages back home, and if they could resist gambling it away, their fortune was made - though, when they did get back to China, they were still considered outsiders.

We had a yummy lunch at Provisions with my Destination Queenstown host Micaela before driving out to Kawarau Gorge to goggle at the parade of bungy jumpers dropping off that historic suspension bridge, and to admire the efficiency of the very slick  AJ Hackett operation. 

Gibbston Valley Winery was just along the gorge, so we called in but, oenophile-failure that I am, our focus was mainly on the Cheesery they also have there. Of course, they also sell Southland's signature cheese rolls, bigger than I've ever seen.

After some downtime back by the river in Arrowtown, watching people panning and paddling, and fighting off the sandflies, it was time for a drink at Dorothy Brown's Gin Balcony, which is exactly what it sounds. Lovely view over town, river and hills, and a wide choice of flavoured gins. 

Then it was time for dinner at Bendix Stables - actual old stables with stone walls, cosy nooks and beams. Friendly staff brought us our choice of pork belly bites, sweetcorn fritters and baked Camembert, which was delicious; and then we went back to Dorothy's to go to the boutique cinema there to sit in comfy seats and watch 'The Rescue' about that amazing Thai cave rescue in 2018 - a documentary. Chilling but then heart-warming, and a great way to finish a busy, interesting and enjoyable day.